


Flight Patterns

by Kaiosea



Category: Infinite (Band), K-pop
Genre: Asian American, First Dates, First Meetings, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 04:59:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2415839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiosea/pseuds/Kaiosea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sungjong found the car quite easy to drive, and Dongwoo quite easy on the eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flight Patterns

**Author's Note:**

> roughly 25% inspired by [ this ](http://kaiosea.tumblr.com/post/99109679815/141003-dongwoos-instagram-update-with-sungjong)

It certainly wasn’t the oddest thing Sungjong had ever done. But for a first date, this certainly qualified as a large commitment, didn’t it?

They met on an online dating site, one with a ubiquitous name that was mocked mercilessly by comedians and established couples. But how else was he, a recent transplant from Korea, supposed to date in a small American city?

He’d wanted to see the world while he was young. He’d found a start-up position that preferred fluency in Korean, and he’d gotten the job entirely too fast. Now, he was the youngest in the entire office, and the only person near-originating from Asia.

He was unaccustomed to lacking instant connections with others. Sungjong yearned for someone who would accept him, who would understand the way he wore his hair long (by American standards) and sometimes pitched his voice higher than natural. After six long, mainly lonely months, he received the first shard of companionable hope in the form of a coherent, polite instant message.

A few years older than Sungjong, Dongwoo was born in Korea, but his family emigrated to the States when he was seven, and he still missed Seoul sometimes. He said his Korean was not very good, but he still spoke to his parents in it. He assured Sungjong that he had no trouble understanding his English, even with the accent, and if they preferred, they could switch between the two. Dongwoo did seem adamant about Sungjong dropping the formalities from his speech when they conversed in Korean, which Sungjong found extremely strange (though of course in English, it was natural), but he got used to it quickly.

They chatted a bit before they got comfortable enough to arrange a meet-up.

 _We might be limited. I don’t have a car_ , Sungjong messaged.

_I do, and I can drive?_

_I apologize, but I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with that._

_No, I understand! Hahaha… well, you always could drive mine?_

_You don’t even know if I’m a good driver or not,_ Sungjong typed with disbelief. _You are a ridiculous person._

 _You can pick me up at 7_ , Dongwoo messaged, followed by his address.

Sungjong had given a friend all of Dongwoo’s information in case he turned out to be a nefarious person, since this friend would not hesitate to call the police if it seemed Sungjong might be in danger. They arranged check-in times, where Sungjong would contact her or else she would assume something had gone wrong and take appropriate measures.

Sungjong arrived 15 minutes early, as he was custom to do. Dongwoo had already filled the car up with gas. Sungjong found the car quite easy to drive, and Dongwoo quite easy on the eyes. Dongwoo insisted on dictating the directions, claiming he wanted it to be a surprise. Sungjong was fine with this, since he could always change his mind and drive elsewhere if it seemed dangerous.

“Okay, now you'll want to stay on the highway for another 30 minutes. You're a good driver, by the way.”

They drove past the city limits, eclipsing the Korean restaurant that Sungjong had thought might’ve been their destination, and they proceeded along a familiar, unevenly paved road leading out of town.

“Ah,” Sungjong said. “I know where we’re going.” There was a famous hole-in-the-wall coming up in 10 minutes, right next to the airport. They were known for their seafood, especially the clam chowder, though Sungjong wondered how they managed a constant supply of fresh fish in a landlocked state. Probably, they cultivated a relationship with local fishers. Dongwoo just smiled mysteriously (but still hugely).

Sure enough, Dongwoo started almost bouncing in his seat when the restaurant was within their sights. Sungjong felt a bit smug.

“And now go left.”

Sungjong almost—just almost—took his eyes off the road in surprise. The fork split so that to the right was the restaurant, and to the left, about a mile down, was the airport.

It was a dinky airport, fairly small and under remodeling for expansion. Compared to Incheon International, where Sungjong had flown out of Seoul from, it was easily manageable, and security was lower. There were under 20 gates.

“Should I have brought my passport?” Sungjong said, after he’d parked and they were walking towards the entrance.

“Oh, no that’s fine,” Dongwoo said cheerfully. He pushed inside the revolving door.

A complete surprise, their final destination was not 100 feet away: a cozy airport cafe, where people only went if they had considerable time to kill before a flight or if their pick-up rides upon arrival were late.

“Hello, I have reservations for two, please.”

The hostess smiled at them. Her brow was clear, and Sungjong detected bags under her eyes. “I answered the phone when you called a few days ago. I don’t know if I’ve ever had a request like that here but I said, what the hell. If he wants one, he gets one.”

She led them to a small alcove near the back. The entire booth was plasticky, with dark red cover, and it made a noise when he slid along the seat to the window.

“I’ll give you a minute to see what you wanna order.”

But the view was amazing. They had the widest, tallest window in the entire setup, and through it, a panorama of the airport runways. A few planes in the distance were motionless, either just-landed or in the endless wait before liftoff, and one was slowly working its way down the strip.

“This is quite nice,” Sungjong said. “I didn’t expect this at all.” He meant it as a compliment.

They ordered coffee and some sandwiches, which arrived promptly. Sungjong checked in with his friend via text, reassuring her that he was fine. They made small talk, which was strange, since in the car he hadn’t hesitated to open up about stronger, more charged topics, but their focus was on the view through the window.

Outside were a small coven of airplanes lying in wait on the ground; no flight had taken off or landed since they arrived; he’d seen only the one departing as they sat down.

Planes skimmed the ground only to stream through the air, but for now they were taciturn, waiting for human forces to act upon them and wake them up from their stupor. Normally he picked up magazines in the gift shops and read through the absolute crud rather than looking out nervously at the gate, but today there was no worry, no wait.

Through the entrance of the airport cafe, they could see the very bottom of the escalators that buoyed people to and from the gates, with security as the intermittent obstacle.

“They must be from the flight that just got in.”

A trickle of people flowed off the bottom step, most with a strange look of weariness set into their features. However, Sungjong noticed these expressions changing as quickly as the wind uncovers the sun on a formerly cloudy day—the impetus for the change was the storybook moment they noticed the person, or people, waiting for them at the end. Their faces morphed into mixes of excitement, nervousness, happiness, apprehension. And he felt it almost as clearly as if he were experiencing it himself.

A few people didn’t look up as they reached the end of the escalators and headed off straight to baggage claim. When Sungjong had stepped off these very escalators six months ago, he’d called a taxi driver.

“There,” Dongwoo said, using his entire body to point to the window. “Another one’s coming in.”

Sungjong squinted, not seeing, and Dongwoo pointed until he found it, a small speck in a wide-open sky.

“You have sharp eyes,” Sungjong said, and before Dongwoo could reject the compliment, he said, “I think you do.”

From here, the planes seemed quiet, docile. It was like his ears remained on mute, seeing the lone bird on its descent, growing steadily larger in his vision.

Sungjong knew first-hand how noisy the landing was. His altitude ears would pop going into the descent, and the roar of the engines would quickly flash from mute to overwhelming.

“This is a flight from Chicago,” Dongwoo said.

Did he know someone on-board? “Ah,” Sungjong responded politely.

“Before then, it was in Seattle.”

Sungjong nodded like he understood the point of this statement. The plane approached silently, its relative size multiplying by the second.

“And before that, well, it was in Seoul.”

Sungjong looked outside, suddenly interested in pinpointing the moment when this plane’s wheels would touch down and hit already excavated dirt. The mirage of heat and speed at the plane’s feet prevented him from doing so. As its gait became regular and it strolled down the straight runway, he breathed out a sigh of relief. It was certainly on the ground now.

“I’ve never had these feelings for an inanimate object before,” Sungjong admitted with a chuckle. Dongwoo agreed easily.

His coffee had gone cold and he’d eaten most of his sandwich without tasting it. They ordered hot refills.

The rest of the afternoon passed in peace, with Sungjong a bit quieter than Dongwoo. They just sat and watched the planes come and go, feeling like every other nearby traveler—away from their roots, but always going home.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of two people going on an unconventional first date at an airport would not leave me alone.


End file.
